Omentië
by Elentari2
Summary: A fated meeting. An overprotected lady with a free spirit finds someone who's not afraid to get things straight. One-shot ficlet, Eöl-Aredhel


**Omentie**  
  
The lady urged her horse faster, greedily drinking the feeling of freedom as the wind kissed her face and made her hair float, a raven banner in the evergreen of the environment.  
  
With a joyous cry she drove into the heart of Nan Elmoth, the dark foliage a refreshing thing after being locked so long into the white stone city. There were not many ladies such as she- few could claim to be of equal rank or higher. But what set her apart, more than her position among the eldar nobility, was her spirit.  
  
Aredhel was particularly free, wild even. For propriety's sake the lady restrained her heart in court, aware of the grudge among the clans. But restraint only went so far.  
  
When opportunity arose, she was quick to step forth when many had stepped back. She had embraced the unknown as one greets an old friend, fearless and proud. Only a selected few knew that in fact, she had done so to finally satiate her burning fëa.  
  
To escape the endless repetition of the patterns.  
  
The lady told herself time and again it was a thing written in the Great Scheme of Things. That her fate was wrought in the tapestries of Vairë, and therefore she had never had much room for choice but to fulfil her destiny. Had Eru not humbled Melkor saying even the dissonance was a thing foreseen, that it happened only by His will to serve a greater purpose known only to Him? Yet Aredhel knew better. Much there was out of the ordinary in her family, a spark barely restrained, until one day they found themselves aflame.  
  
And what a fire it had been.  
  
Her mare faltered, exhausted, and the lady realised she was much further in the forests than she had intended and the escorts were nowhere in sight. Her heart jumped in fear and excitement- for even though the lands were dangerous, even though the nameless fear roamed the wilds, she had ever longed for freedom. 'Twas a feeling that constantly clashed with her love for her family, for her loved ones protected her to the point of it being overwhelming- and with good reason, she'd remind herself even in the most bitter of hours. She dismounted, reminding herself yet again of the need for caution, and scanning the terrain for the missing elves.  
  
Oh, but her brothers would skin the elven warriors alive, she thought.  
  
Assuring herself that the sword was firmly secured to her waist, Aredhel retraced her path, careful not to call them aloud for it would only attract fell beasts to herself and her companions. The mare trailed behind her, as if sensing the mistress' need for support. The day grew old and she found no trace of her guards.  
  
Aredhel released a few choice words when she found an oak tree she was certain to have passed by before. If her worry was not so great, she might have found energy to be ashamed for losing herself.  
  
The lady realised a mist descended upon her path, blocking the view of the road. She sought for her sword immediately, unsheathing it, fear overcoming excitement in one single heartbeat. Many dark creatures roamed beyond the borders of her kin's dwellings, and the absence of her escorts gained the meaning of omen. She was used to cultivated plains and intricately built cities, an urbanite, but Aredhel had had her fair share of hardships of late. She swiftly climbed a tree until the canopy hid her from prying eyes, and tried to learn what it was that was on her pursuit.  
  
For the mists were closing in.  
  
If she were to escape that plight, she'd listen to her brothers more attentively, she vowed.  
  
No fell beast came. An elf she saw, though at once the lady knew it was no common elf that came to her. Dark he was, as most elves of the mainland, tall even in the measuring of the Firstborn. A simple grey tunic, leather boots and a long sword - no cloaks of embroidered velvet for him. Even his hair was unbound, cascading down his shoulders, as if mocking the intricate riding attire she wore. He leant against the tree in front of hers, his face unreadable. She felt as if the very air was stolen from her as he observed her, his gaze firm and unwavering.  
  
He said nothing for a long moment, and she stayed silent as well, feeling very small and vulnerable. There was a quiet, underlying strength in him that pulled her, when she wanted to flee- fly! Run away to the loving embrace of her brothers, return to all she had never fully appreciated before.  
  
With a slow, deliberate gesture he reached forward, offering her his hand.  
  
She climbed down the tree, but did not take it.  
  
His eyes, grey as a clear evening, grey as an approaching storm, were still veiled but acquired an amused quality that threw her off balance.  
  
"Have you not been told it is a dangerous thing to wander alone in the wilds?"  
  
The lady was not quite sure what she had expected, but that was not it. She had been pampered all her life- even now, was her plight not the direct consequence of it? Had her family been a little firmer, she'd not be lost in the wilderness, at the mercy of that mocking stranger. She knew for sure that he would not be impressed by her stature or fortune, that the name of her father would mean nothing to him, and that he would not bestow her any courtesy but what she earned.  
  
It was a battle of wits that came to her, and the lady wondered, surprised by even thinking that, if she would not be more fortunate with her sword.  
  
"I have lost my escorts," she replied simply, gathering her pride and education around her as an armour.  
  
"They cannot be good escorts, leaving their mistress so."  
  
She saw in him a matching fire, a naughty arrogance that would not be looked upon by anyone. Oddly, the lady found herself pleased.  
  
"I will leave the matter of their competence to my brothers, but I venture the guards will not be glad to face them, even if it means they have not been taken by the Enemy."  
  
Her voice trembled somewhat as she voiced her fears, but only slightly, and nothing else showed how shaken the lady was. The dark elf nodded, and stepped forth himself to capture her hands in his. He brought her hand to his lips, kissing the air above it. Even the mockery was enthralling.  
  
"You may stay and look for your friends, as it is, and share their fate, whatever they might be. Or you may come with me, and find some shelter from beast and weather alike. Do not take your time, though."  
  
She felt her temper flaring at his uncaring comments. "How dare you be so rude? They may be in trouble!"  
  
"And they brought that upon themselves, have they not? We are far from the protected borders, lady. Evil things roam these lands. I would that it was not so, but it is, and I cannot waste my time and efforts where they are not appreciated. Others depend on it."  
  
She stared at him, aghast, but he only shrugged and turned to return into the mist.  
  
She truly hated to be humbled.  
  
"Wait!"  
  
He did stop, but did not turn around to face her. He would have her crawling.  
  
She'd show him what he was dealing with.  
  
"Will you bring me to your lord?" she said, reaching him in a few strides, and finding those pools of silver much less cold than they had been before.  
  
"My dearest lady," he said quietly, "I am the lord."  
  
She took a deep, much needed breath. "My apologies, though we could spare ourselves the trouble if you had but introduced yourself properly. I am Aredhel, daughter of Fingolfin."  
  
The elf arched his eyebrow at her. Obviously, he was not impressed.  
  
"Would you please consider sending some guards to know their fate?" she tried again, "mayhap they still live."  
  
The elf looked at her pityingly. There was something insulting in that leniency, however. "When have you last seen them?"  
  
Aredhel did not reply, for she could not. She had not noticed the moment their paths separated. "I do not know. I... I became lost."  
  
"For how long?"  
  
"I do not know."  
  
The elf leant against a tree again, this time supporting his weight on his elbow, his forearm partly obscuring his face. The other hand rested above the hilt of his sword, a gesture that did not pass unnoticed.  
  
"Are you afraid of me?" he asked, a hint of laughter in his voice, although his face was still blank.  
  
"No." She was not ashamed to lie. Aredhel would not admit it even if her life depended on it.  
  
He smiled then, a slow, lazy grin that lit up his features. The elf-lord reached for her hand, but instead of courteously kissing it he pulled the lady to him roughly, pinning her against the tree. In the very moment the lady opened her mouth to berate his unacceptable behaviour he covered her lips with his, insistently nibbling her soft flesh, goading her into opening herself to him.  
  
He was nothing like the genteel admirers she had had. He did not wait for her acquiescence, he did not worship her, he was not afraid of offending her family. He simply took what he wanted, with a simplicity and an assertiveness that were in themselves frightening. Aredhel was only mildly surprised to find that she responded him in kind, fire against fire. She had thrown caution and property to the blackest pit and grabbed his hair with both hands, wishing he would never let go, when the elf put some distance between them.  
  
If he wasn't holding her so close, Aredhel would have fallen.  
  
"Welcome to Nan Elmoth, Lady Aredhel. I am Eöl."

('')

**A.N.:** Someone at Legends of Middle Earth threw a challenge: portray the meeting of a canon couple, something gap-filling. As some of you knew already, I had wanted to write a Lúthien fic for quite some time. I felt as if I owed something to the First Age elves. Obviously, the meeting of Beren and Lúthien was quite well portrayed by Tolkien's standards and she was out of consideration for the challenge.  
  
But thing is, I was thinking about her in these last days (when I really should be revising my old stuff and producing something for the present projects I have). And just as I had hit my pillow, the fic came to me.  
  
It was most annoying, the way it took me over. I wanted to _sleep_. I had an Imedhuir fic to finish. But the damned thing would not let me be (quite literally) until I had it done. To be true I am not even sure if their meeting was portrayed in detail- I read the Silmarillion and the Unfinished tales a long time ago, and some things are lost to my poor memory. But that was no excuse. The thing was done, and it needed to get out.  
  
Realising I had no other option, I lit my lamp and started writing. 


End file.
